


Just Want to Make It Out Alive

by FionaBarnes



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, High School, genderswap!steve
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-07
Updated: 2014-07-27
Packaged: 2018-02-07 19:43:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1911411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FionaBarnes/pseuds/FionaBarnes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stevie just wants to make it through senior year of high school without any drama. Over the summer she’s finally grown out of her awkward gangly stage and is setting her sights on the RI School of Design.  However fate has a different plan.  An old friend returns, and Stevie can barely see the person they used to be, and her taking Auto-Shop on a dare might just blow up in her face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Walking into Stark High School, Stevie couldn’t help but bite her lip. She tightened her grip on her sketchbook entering the halls already filled with hoards of students attempting to find their friends, lockers, and first classes.

Stevie wove her way down the long main hallway turning at a small side hallway. The hallway was noticeably less populated and allowed Stevie to speed up. She reached the small bank of vending machines at the end of the hallway in decent time, but her friends seemed to have beaten her to their spot nestled between the soda and lunch food machines. Natasha and Sam smirked at her as she approached, and plopped down unceremoniously allowing her back to rest against the soda machine. 

“Well look who it is,” Sam teased, “I almost didn’t recognize my favorite artist if it hadn’t been for her trusty sketchbook. He grunted as Natasha elbowed him. 

“You look good Stevie, like the summer agreed with you this year,” Natasha said, holding out a small packet of trail mix. 

Stevie snatched the packet from Natasha practically inhaling the contents. 

“Natasha, you are a life saver,” she said wiping salt from her mouth as she finished. 

“Well I figured someone would oversleep because they were up late last night trying to finish that summer art project they’ve been working so hard on,” Natasha said

Stevie ducked her head to hide her blush. She’d been up to nearly three that morning putting the final touches on her summer art project which was supposed to be the first step towards applying to art schools. 

“Oh come one Stevie, don’t be like that. We know what a great painter you are, even if you are a perfectionist,” Sam laughed. Stevie and Natasha began to laugh as well, Sam did have a point. 

“Alight,” Stevie said as the laughter subside, “schedule comparison?”

She pulled a well folded piece of paper from her sketchbook as the others did the same.   
Comparing schedules was a tradition for the trio, something always done on the first day of school, never before and never on facebook like their classmates did. They would pass the sheets around looking for similar classes, and debating which lunch periods they would have, as both Sam and Natasha knew that if Stevie didn’t have lunch with at least one of them, she would abscond to the Art room forgoing lunch. 

“Sweet! We have French together,” Sam says looking over a Stevie. She’d been the one who had convinced him to take a fifth year of foreign language pointing out that it would look better on any application if he was fluent in a language. 

“Looks like we have history with Mrs. Hillman too,” Stevie said; looking over at Sam. 

“No, please tell me we don’t have the dragon lady for senior year,” Sam whined. 

“She is not the dragon lady, Sam” Natasha said rolling her eyes, “just because she makes you read documents and write papers does not make her evil. I think she’ll be good for you.” 

Stevie just shook her head, as she took a look a Natasha’s schedule, and handed Natasha hers. Natasha seemed to do a double take. 

“You actually did it, I can’t believe you actually did it,” she said. Sam quirked an eyebrow. 

“Do I want to know what she’s talking about Art, or am I better off not knowing,” he asked.   
Stevie looked at Natasha for the go-ahead, getting a shrug from her Russian friend in return. 

“Natasha and I made a bet. If I take Auto Shop and last the semester, Natasha is going to buy me a slew of new art supplies. If I drop before the semester ends, I owe Natasha a new pair of pointe shoes and help making backgrounds for the spring musical,” Stevie said. 

Sam whistled. “I know you’re all supergirl now that you’ve finally grown up, but is Auto Shop a good idea. I mean, those guys are the ones who have been making fun of you since day one.” 

Stevie lean over just enough to punch Sam’s arm. She knew she was in trouble with the whole Auto Shop class, but it was a way to prove to herself and the her peers that she wasn’t that awkward gangly sickly art student who nearly died every P.E. class and had probably spent more time at home sick, then she had in class. Regardless, Natasha had dared her to do it, and Stevie was not one to back down from a challenge. 

Another glance at Natasha’s schedule showed that she had AP English and AP Biology with Natasha. So she’s have lunch with Sam on even days and lunch with Natasha on odd days. She could live with that, at least she wouldn’t be hiding in the art rooms all the time. 

Overhead a warning bell rang, alerting the trio that they had a scant five minutes to make it to first block. Stevie double checked her schedule, Auto Shop. She exhaled loudly as she stood. At least the shop was near the art rooms. It would make it easier to work on project before school if she was so close to one of her morning classes. 

Stevie arrived in the Auto Shop with a minute to spare. The room was barely even half filled, allowing her to pick a chair in the back corner of the class, nearest the door; the best seat for a quick escape if things went south. The classroom itself looked like the inside of a Jiffy Lube waiting room with various posters depicting cars, motor oil, and engines. There was even swimsuit calendar hanging over what she assumed was Mr. Kreasler, the auto shop teachers, desk. One side of the room had large reinforced glass windows that looked out to the actual shop area, where it seemed some of the more knowledgeable students were already working on a handful of cars.   
The final bell rang, and a flood of people passed by Stevie, all fighting over who had the rights to the back row of seats. 

Thankfully Mr. Kreasler was already starting to hand out the syllabus, which meant her classmates had little time to survey their classmates. 

As Stevie received her syllabus, the boys around her were already growing restless, some going as far as to ball up their papers and throw them at one another. 

“There will be no foolishness in this class,” Mr. Kreasler said, catching one of the paper balls as he talked. “Auto Shop is not a class where cramming useless facts into your head will get you through. This class teaches you real life skills that may be of great help to you in the long run. Auto mechanics is a science. You have to know exactly what you’re doing, because if you mess it up, someone could die. Therefore I will tolerate nothing but the best from each and every one of you. Furthermore I will not let you near a car until you have proven to me you know what you’re doing and have earned the right to touch a vehicle.” 

“Amen Mr. Kreasler!” came from one of the boys sitting in the middle. 

“Ah, Mr. Stark. I was hoping I’d have the pleasure of your company this year. I heard that your father has quite the collection of classic cars,” Mr. Kreasler said. 

Stevie’s eyes widened. Tony Stark was one of her classes. The guy was 15 and already getting ready to graduate high school. Word on the street, cough Sam cough, also said that he had already been accepted to MIT and Berkley. In fact, the whole class was in something of an uproar. Tony Stark was as close to a celebrity as it got in their little town outside of NYC.

“Okay, where was I,” Mr. Kreasler said, “Oh… I don’t do roll call or attendance in this class. I expect you to be here on time and ready to work every day. I do have an idea of who everyone is and will learn you all by the end of the week. So while I’m not calling your names at the beginning of class, I still expect you to be here.” 

Mr. Kreasler continued talking for the better part of an hour before allowing the people who were technically in their second or third year of Auto Shop out to work on the few cars that needed small things done. Everyone in their first year was to take a test to assess their knowledge of cars to determine where Kreasler needed to start teaching. 

“Hey girly,” a voice called from Stevie’s right. Stevie ignored the voice, hoping it wasn’t who she thought it was. 

“Hey I’m talking to you,” it continued. Stevie saw a body sit in the chair next to hers, and could feel their eyes on her. 

“I just want to know why a pretty girl like you is in a greasey smelly place like this,” it said. Stevie turned her head to see none other than Tony Stark sitting next to her. 

“I made a bet with a friend,” she said honestly. Tony shook his head. 

“Seems like a stupid reason to me. I’m Tony by the way. If you didn’t know,” he said, sticking his hand out of shake. 

“Stevie, and believe me its worth it,” she replied, shaking his hand. 

“Wait are you….” Tony started, “you can’t be. You’re too pretty to be Steph the Stick.”   
Stevie tried to curl into herself in her chair. She’d hoped that she could escape that name this year. That horrible middle school nickname seemed to haunt her no matter what she did. 

“I didn’t mean it like that, I just…” Tony said. “Look, I was just going to ask if you wanted to go watch some people work out there. Since we can’t touch anything for a while.”   
Stevie unfolded herself and looked at Tony. He seemed so hopeful that she would join him in the excursion. Maybe it was because she was one of two girl in the class, and the other looked like she was straight out of a Rammstein concert. Maybe he actually wanted to get to know her. Regardless, she followed him into the work bays. 

A couple of the guys working had already stripped out of their t-shirts opting for the white beater approach as to not dirty their “nice school clothes”. Stevie and Tony wandered from car to car, Tony trying to explain what each car is having done to it and some basics of car mechanics. It flies over Stevie’s head, but she doesn’t mind all that much. Someone is trying to talk to her like a normal person and their name isn’t Natasha or Sam so it’s a good thing to her. 

As they work their way across the bays, Stevie stops as one that has only one boy working at it. He’s definitely tall, with a head of brunette hair, stooped over the engine block of a car she actually recognizes. It’s a 1969 Chevy Impala in the most perfect shade of dark blue she’s ever seen. Tony is almost dancing out of the corner of her eye, just as excited by the car as she is. 

“Is this yours,” he asks the hunched figure, whos back stiffens slightly as if startled by Tony’s question. 

A deep baritone replies from the engine, “you betcha, rebuilt her myself from the engine out.” The boy straighten up and turned around wiping his hands on a surprisingly clean rag.

Stevie couldn’t believe her eyes. It couldn’t be, it just couldn’t. She hadn’t seen hide of hair of him in six years, and yet the Adonis in front of her had to be him. There was no mistaking those eyes or that Brooklynn drawl that never went away despite his time in town. 

“Bucky,” she asked, drawing a look of surprise from Tony and the boy.   
“Who the hell is Bucky?”


	2. Chapter 2

Natasha knew something was wrong the minute she walked into AP English.  Stevie was sitting in their agreed upon area in the front corner of the classroom, with her bag reserving the seat next to hers, but she seemed completely focused on whatever was on the desk in front of her.   As Natasha got closer she recognized the battered leather binding of Stevie’s older sketchbook, flipped open to a well creased page.  

“Thinking about him again,” Natasha asked as she slid into her seat.  

Stevie didn’t respond, barely even flinching from the unexpected noise.   She was utterly focused on the rough sketch of a young boy curled up on a window sill reading a book.  

“Stevie,” Natasha said, prodding her even so slightly, “we been through this.  Its not good for you to dwell on the past.” 

“I saw him today Nat,” Stevie replied softly, as if tears were threatening to fall any moment.  “I saw him, and he didn’t even know realize who I was.”

Natasha softened, trying to think of a way to comfort her friend.  

“Where exactly did you see him,” she asked. 

“In Auto Shop.  Tony Stark asked if I wanted to wander around the shop with him, and we stopped at this beautiful ’69 Impala in dark blue, just like the one he always wanted.  Tony asked him a question and he turned around to talk to us and didn’t even react.  He didn’t even remember his nickname,” Stevie said, her voice shaking more with each clause.  

“Oh honey.  Would you like me to go rip dear James a new one.  I know he hurt you so much the first time, and pretending to not know his former best friend is unforgivable,” Natasha said, running a hand up and down her friends back. 

Overhead the bell rang, and the Ms. Geisen began the typical first day spiel and handed out syllabi before beginning a discussion of  _How to Read Literature Like Professor._  Stevie remained unusually quite throughout class only commenting when called ona by Ms.  Geisen.  

At the end of the period, the class was released to lunch, after Ms. Geisen gave them their first assignment of the semester, a free writing piece discussing a novel they read over the summer using  _How to Read_  as a guide.  

Stevie and Natasha were the last one out of class, a bad sign for Stevie who had to purchase her lunch.   The cafeteria was packed and all the lines were overflowing with freshman who hadn’t learned it was more beneficial to them to brown bag it. 

The pair found their spot in a corner of the cafeteria near the folding partition that was used to break the expanse up during standardized exams.   Natasha glared at the handful of freshman girls who were already sitting there.  The group moved at the sight of the angry red head glaring at them.  

They sat down across from each other, Natasha pulling out her lunch while Stevie opened her sketchbook.   Natasha rolled her eyes, pushing a baggie of carrots and celery to Stevie.   She ignored the offering, focusing on the rough shapes already forming on the heavy paper in front of her. 

“Stevie, you need to eat.  The last thing you need is to waste away.  You just finished getting healthy,” Natasha said gently.   Stevie ignored her, utterly focused on her work indifferent to the happenings around her.  

“Hey, Stevie, do you mind if I sit with you and your friend,” a voice said from her left. 

Natasha looked over to see a grinning Tony Stark looking at her oblivious blonde friend

“What do you want Stark? Don’t you have some freshman to go hit on or something,” Natasha asked.

Tony just smirked at her, “Well seeing as the freshmen don’t understand why I’m a senior and not sophomore, no.  I prefer my older women anyway.”  He took the seat to Stevie’s right, placing a pink tray full of junk food on the table in front of himself. 

“So…” Tony started, looking down at his tray, “was it you, who made the bet with Stevie?”  

Natasha nodded, but gave no reasoning.  It wasn’t as if Stark deserved to be privy to all the goings on in the school, even if his daddy’s name was on the building.  

Tony looked over at Stevie who had yet to even acknowledge the fact the seat next to her was taken by another human being.  He tried to position himself to see over her arms to determine what she was working on.  

“I wouldn’t...” Natasha said.  Thump.   Tony’s head hit the table, just barely missing his helping of French fries.  Natasha sighed, picking a carrot from the bag between here and Stevie.   She threw it so that it hit Stevie square between the eyebrows.  

“What the heck Natasha,” Stevie said, furiously erasing what was probably a messed up line.  It was then that she noticed Tony beside her, rubbing his nose gingerly.   “Sorry Tony.  I didn’t realize you were there.”

“It’s okay,” he said. Though it came out sounding more like ‘’s otay”.  

“I tried to stop you,” Natasha said, swiping another carrot, “when in doubt even disturb Stevie when she’s working. She may not look like a lot but she’ll deck you if you interrupt her.”   Tony hummed in understanding and agreement.  “Also, never ask to see her work.  She’ll show it to you if it’s finished and you’re deemed worthy.” 

Stevie nodded, reaching over Tony’s arm for his French fries. Her sketchbook was already safely tucked away from the prying eyes of her lunch companions.   Tony looked over at her, opening his mouth to say something, but the glare from Natasha stopped him.  Something in that glare said “do it and I swear you will not wake up tomorrow.” 

The rest of the lunch period went smoothly, with the trio falling into easy conversation about their first classes of the new school year, though they avoided talking about Auto Shop.  

The bell rang allowing the mass of students running from the cafeteria to their last class of the day.  

“What’s your last class Stark,” Natasha asked.  

Tony thought for a few seconds, “History I think, with a Mrs. Hillman. Why?”  

Natasha smiled, “because that’s what Stevie here has next.”   Tony smiled back, looping his arm with one of Stevies.  

As Tony pulled her away, Stevie glared at Natasha over her shoulder.  

 Mrs. Hillman was waiting for her students as they entered the classroom with a seating chart in hand. 

“Ms. Rodgers, you’re in the far front corner, far desk.   Mr. Stark, Middle of the room, second on the left in the middle,” she said peering over her cat eye glasses at the pair.   Sam was already there, sitting uncomfortable between two rather chatty girls.  He waved a little as Stevie crossed the room. She shot him a quick smile and noticed him mouthing something along the lines of we will talk later. 

The seat wasn’t what Stevie would have picked for herself.  It was too conspicuous for her to get away with sketching in class, and too far from the door to make a quick escape.   The closet neighboring seat was empty when the bell rang.  

Mrs. Hillman looked over the class, regarding them as a stern librarian would possible rebel rousers. 

“Good afternoon class.   I am so pleased and excited to welcome you to 20th Century Topics.   Now I sure many of you have been wondering what 20th Century Topics is….”   Mrs. Hillman stopped as the door to the classroom opened, drawing the eyes of everyone in the room. 

Stevie couldn’t believe it.  What did she do to deserve the torture God was putting her through?  At the door, head bowed with a hand on his next was James Buchannan “Bucky” Barnes, her only childhood friend. 

“Mr. Barnes, how nice of you to join us,” Mrs. Hillman said. 

Bucky did not rise to meet her gaze. “Sorry ma’am.  I got a little lost trying to get to class.”  

Stevie knew he was lying.   He never met your gaze when he lied, add to that the grease stains on his worn blue t-shirt, and the only conclusion one could draw was that Bucky had been working on his car during break.  

“I guess that will work for today, but never again Mr. Barnes.  You will be here before that bell rings, or I mark you absent; understand,” Mrs. Hillman asked.  Bucky nodded.  

“Good, take your seat next to Ms. Rodgers over there,” she said pointing to the seat next to Stevie.  

Mrs. Hillman continued her introduction as Bucky made his way over to the seat.   He sat down heavily and made no move to pull out anything with which to take notes. 

“Alright… 20th Century Topics is an honors course which seeks to bring into perspective the events of the 1900s and explore their compounding effect on the modern world.   We will do this by exploring the key events in great detail and the secondary events in lesser detail beginning with the Great War and ending with the Fall of the Soviet block.   This will be both a reading and writing intestine class and I expect each and every one of you to have completed the readings prior to the class they are assigned for.  In addition we will have two papers, one short, and one long, both research oriented; and two pairs projects.   So I suggest those of you in odd rows look to your look to your left and evens look to your right as that person will be your partner for the year.  And no switching will be allowed.” Mrs. Hillman said moving to hand out her official syllabus. 

Stevie dreaded looking to her left knowing that meant Bucky would be her partner. 

“Hey, I’m James and I’m sorry about this morning.  I know this Bucky character must be really important to you,” he said sticking out his hand.  

“Stevie,” She answered, “I shouldn’t have said that anyway. I just haven’t seen Bucky in so long.”

James nodded in understanding, like he’d lost a friend long ago as well.  

The rest of class went quickly as Mrs. Hillman focused on a lively discussion on the Edwardian era and the world at large in the early years of the 20th century.  

In the last minute of class Mrs. Hillman made sure to assign a pairs assignment, it would be easy.  Get to know your partner by writing a brief summary of their favorite historical event or person to be graded by the other. 

James looked at Stevie for a quick answer to the question.  Stevie shook her head passing him a note

_I’ll tell you tomorrow. I need to think about it a little bit._

James nodded, allowing Stevie to leave just as the bell rang.  He watched as another boy followed close behind.  There was something utterly familiar and perplexing about this Stevie and if there was one thing he truly loved it was a good puzzle.  

“So, what was with you and Stark?” Sam asked as Stevie made her way towards the parking lot and Natasha’s car. 

“There’s nothing with Tony and I.  He’s just being friendly, we’re in auto shop together,” she said tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. 

“You sure, you two were pretty cozy walking into history,” Sam teased.  “And what was up with that Barnes kid. You looked as though you’d seen a ghost?” 

“Look Sam, you’re a swell guy 90% of the time, but now is not the time to chat.  Natasha is waiting and I will see you tomorrow,” Stevie answered.   She could see Natasha’s hair of the tops of the many sedans in the parking lot. 

Sam stopped her quickly pulling her back to him, “I expect a full briefing tomorrow morning, and you better be early.”

Stevie nodded as he let go allowing her to hurry up to Natasha.   Natasha smirked as Stevie approached, unlocking her car and getting in. 

“So,” Natasha asked, “you want to come watch my lesson today?”  Stevie shook her head. 

“I need to get home,” she said, “already have a ton of homework.” Natasha give her this look that says she doesn’t believe the homework lie, even if there is a grain of truth in her words.  But Natasha refuses to push.  She knows that Stevie will talk when Stevie is ready, not before.  So Natasha pulls out of the parking lot heading in the direction of Stevie’s home.   

The ride home is quite save the radio, the pair content with just each other’s presence.   Stevie stares out the window at the homes of her neighborhood.  It looks the same as it always did, with a few more young families and at least double the cars.  Natasha keeps focused on the road following a route she could probably drive in her sleep.   

As they arrive at the small red brick post-war house that Stevie and her mother shared, Stevie couldn’t help but glance down the road at what had once been the Barnes residence.  At one point she had known that house better than she’d known her own.  

“Thanks Tasha, see you tomorrow,” she said stepping out of the car, “and I hope your pointe class goes well.”  

Natasha waited until Stevie was at the front door before pulling away and heading toward her class.   Stevie paused, watching as Natasha drove away, and glancing back at the old Barnes house.  There were cars that she didn’t recognize out front.  Maybe the house had been sold again and the new owners were moving in today.  

Stevie ignored the feeling of sadness that swirled in her gut. Everytime another family moved into that house it hurt, not as bad as the day that she’d gone over to play and discovered the house completely empty, but that lingering hurt that comes from a wound that never properly healed.

There was a note from her mother on the kitchen counter telling her that her dinner was in the fridge and to not expect her home until late.  Stevie opened the fridge to see a small plate of chicken, rice, and vegetables waiting for her.  The note also asked her to please bake some brownies and take them to the new neighbors.  

Stevie sighed putting her bag on the kitchen table.  While brownies were her specialty, Stevie was in no way the right mood to bake.  But she figured if anything would help her mood it was indeed chocolate.  

An hour and a batch of brownies later, Stevie fidgeted on the front stoop of the Barnes house warm plate in hand.   Her hand floated over the doorbell for ages before she finally pressed it.   There was some yelling from inside the house and the sound of feet moving closer to the door.   The door opened to reveal a tween girl no more than 12 years old with the same brown hair and grey/blue eyes that Stevie would never forget. 

“Rebecca who is it,” a woman’s voice asked.  

“Some girl with brownies Ma,” Rebecca answered.  

Stevie stood frozen in place. The last time she had seen Rebecca Barnes the girl had been a toddler in ill-fitting princess dresses. 

“Well don’t just stand there,” the older woman said coming from the back of the house.  There was flour on her cheek and covering the front of her worn apron.  She stopped short staring at Stevie as Stevie stared back.

“Sorry to bother you.  My mother and I live just down the street in 1744.  Just wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood,” Stevie said, extending the plate out the Rebecca.   The younger girl snatched the plate away running toward the back of the house.  

“Thank you dear. That’s awfully kind of you Stevie,” the woman said.  Stevie stopped breathing for a moment.  She hadn’t told this woman her name that she could remember.  Her mind was racing trying to put all the pieces that didn’t quite fit together.

“Mama Barnes?” she asked sounding very much like a small child. 

“Come inside dear. I think we need to have a chat before James gets home,” Mrs. Barnes said allowing Stevie into the house. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, two chapters in as many days. I guess this is my reward for having a slow day at work. Just wanted to clarify one thing in case it was confusing to anyone. In that scene in the history class I refer to Bucky as such until he tells Stevie his name is James then refer to him that way for the remainder of the chapter. Bucky did not introduce himself to Stevie in Auto-Shop for a variety of reasons that will be explained later.  
> Also, this version of high school is based loosely on my own high school in the US, and many of the teachers will be amalgams of my own teachers, minus the art ones. So that whole history class scene happened in real life, not with quite that wording but close enough. There will also be some other marvel characters making appearances throughout the story, who and when has yet to be decided other than maybe Thor and Jane. 
> 
> Please leave comments, kudos, concerns, suggestions, whatever you wish. I do enjoy getting all kinds of feedback. I don't know when the next chapter will be up. I'm going to aim for the end of the week, but I make no promises. 
> 
> Night!


	3. Chapter 3

Mrs. Barnes directed Stevie towards the small kitchen table. The table itself was covered in what looked like the pieces of the Barnes family lasagna. Stevie’s mouth watered at the thought of having such delicious food again. 

As she looked around the kitchen, Stevie was amazed how much it looked like it had all those years ago. The only major difference was a small framed sketch of three children playing in a pile of leaves. She recognized the sketch as one of her early ones, something she had done just after she had been given her first sketchbook. Mrs. Barnes had bought it from her for a whole dollar when she’d finished it.   
“You still have it,” she asked.

“Of course I still have it. There has never been a better picture of my three children in the entire world,” Mrs. Barnes answered from the stove.   
Stevie blushed. She’d known years ago that Mrs. Barnes had always considered her a daughter, but to hear it out loud after so long was comforting. 

“I met Bucky this morning,” Stevie said, looking down at the table, moving a finger around in the dusting of flour that covered the table.   
“I was hoping I’d see you before he met you again,” Mrs. Barnes said, her eyes softening, “and I should probably tell you he goes by James now.”  
“I know. I have auto and history with him. We’re partners for the later,” Stevie said, “I just want to know what happened to my Bucky.” 

Mrs. Barnes sighed as she stirred a pot on the stove. “He has what the doctors call Post-Traumatic Amnesia.”   
Stevie felt sick, what kind of trauma her best friend had been through that he couldn’t remember his friends. “How? When?” 

“You remember we used to send Bucky and Becca to their grandparents for two weeks every summer,” Mrs Barnes asked. Stevie nodded, it was the worst part of her summer, those two weeks when her best friend went to Indianapolis every summer.

“That summer, Bucky and his Grandfather were in a car accident and Bucky wasn’t wearing his seat belt at the time. He went through the windshield Stevie. He shouldn’t have survived, but he did. When he came to he didn’t remember much beside his name and who his ma and da were. The doctors said that the amnesia could be temporary or permanent, depending on how bad the brain damage way. One even said that he might never remember anything prior to the accident,” Mrs. Barnes explained.   
Stevie felt the tears prickling at the corners of her eyes, and fought them back. He was alive at least. That was more than nothing. 

“Is that why you moved so suddenly?” 

Mrs. Barnes nodded, “John and I felt that Bucky would have a better chance at fully recovering his memory if he was closer to his family. You have to understand Stevie, it took him months to remember the big things, his birthday, who his grandparents were, where we lived.”

Stevie couldn’t help but feel let down. She had always counted herself as a member of the Barnes family.   
“Why did you move back then,” Stevie asked, her voice almost at a whisper. 

“Grandma and Grandpa Barnes died in March, and John was offered a better paying job here than what he had in Indiana,” Mrs. Barnes explained. 

Stevie understood where Mrs. Barnes was coming from, and her reasons for leaving and coming back were sound. But Stevie couldn’t help the hurt that swirled in her belly.   
“Stevie, I know it hurts right now, and you probably don’t have to see any of us at the moment, but it would be an honor to have you stay for dinner,” Mrs. Barnes said softly. Her hand resting on Stevie’s shoulder. 

“Thanks for the offer Mama Barnes, but I think mom might be missing…” she started. 

“Stephanie Grace Rodgers, don’t you lie to me. I have it on good authority that your mother is working the night shift this week.” Stevie hung her head, ashamed she just lied to a woman she considered a second mother. 

“Oh come here sweetheart,” Mrs. Barnes said, holding her arms out to Stevie. She immediately wedged herself into the older woman’s arms, allowing herself to be held like a small child again. 

When they broke apart, Mrs. Barnes directed her towards the stove and the simmering pot of gravy that needed stirring. Mrs Barnes herself set to work at the table putting the finishing touches on the cheese and meat mixtures. 

The pair worked in a pleasant silence, listening to the faint sounds of the Elias children next store playing in the moderate temperatures of early September.   
As if on cue, the front door swung open with a thud, as Mrs. Barnes placed the lasagna in the oven to bake.

“Ma, I’m home,” James called as he stomped through the house. As he entered the kitchen he stopped, his eyes narrowing at the sight of Stevie near the stove.  
“What are you doing here,” he asked. The anger in his eyes was evident, scarring Stevie slightly. She had never seen him truly angry when they were kid, and was hoping to forgo an encounter with the famous Barnes temper.

“James Buchannan Barnes,” his mother said slapping her son upside the head, “that is no way to talk to a guest; especially when she has been helping me with dinner, and brought brownies to welcome us to the neighborhood.” James cowered under the stern gaze of this mother, his eyes flitting between her and Stevie as if looking for conformation. Stevie gave a slight nod, and watched as James relaxed. 

“How about you two work on some homework while dinner is finishing up,” Mrs. Barnes suggested. Stevie opened her mouth to protest, but stopped. This could be good, it would give them time to get to know each other again. 

“We do have that history assignment to work on,” James said picking his bag up off the floor. Stevie hadn’t even realized he’d been carrying it, caught up in the anger he’d displayed. She followed him out of the kitchen and up the stairs. Stevie made sure to skip the 6th stair, remembering it creaked terribly under even her weight as a child. James had skipped it too, remembering the awful sound it had made under his weight just that weekend as they’d moved into the old house. Once of the small landing, James entered the second door on the left. Stevie smiled. It was his old room. 

The room looked a lot different from what she’d remember; in fact she’d expected it to be completely different. The walls that had once been a sky blue were now a bright cream contrasting the original dark wood molding. Instead of a twin bed pushed up under the window, a full size sat center on left wall. A desk was positioned under the window, already covered in papers and various metal trinkets. Naturally there were still boxes in differing states of packing scattered across the room. Stevie took particular interest in the acoustic guitar propped against the bed and the sketch of the New York skyline hung above the bed as a mock headboard. 

“I like your room.” she said taking a seat in the rickety chair in front of the desk. James settled onto his bed, sitting against the wall, his head sitting just below the Brooklyn Bridge on the skyline. 

“It’s not finished yet,” he said simply, “I’ve still got my bookshelf to put together and some stuff I want to hung. Just haven’t gotten around to it yet.”   
James then reached down beside his bed producing a Macbook, stickers covering the top advertised coffee houses, what Stevie assumed were his old high school, and some bands. She recognized the most prominent one of all, a gold outline of a wing on a black background, for a band called the Howling Commandos. 

“Do you like the Commandos,” James asked, noticing her stare. 

“I’ve listen to some of their stuff. Not my usual speed, but I like what I’ve heard,” she said, trying to keep a straight face. In truth she had every song the Commandos had ever put out on her beaten up IPod. “Why were you a groupie back in Indiana or something?” 

James smirked, his eyes dancing with mischief. “What would you say if I said you were in the same room as their lead singer and guitarist,” he asked, the smirk growing wider by the second.   
“I’d apologize to your band mates for inflating your ego, jerk,” she said, trying her hardest to keep from swooning. 

“Shut it punk,” James answer, stopping after the words left his mouth. Like he hadn’t even thought about what he was saying, just said what came naturally. Stevie took a deep breath, her Bucky was definitely in there somewhere, just how far down; she had no idea. 

“So history project about favorite historical things?” Stevie asked, fidgeting in the desk chair. 

“Oh yeah…” James said, adjusting his position on the bed, sitting up straighter, more alert, “I was thinking we could play 10 questions with history and figure out what we each want to write about.” 

Stevie nodded, it was a good way to brainstorm ideas. Knowing her interests it would be difficult to pick just one thing as her favorite for Bucky to write about.   
“How about we go really broad first,” she suggested, “favorite century?” 

“20th,” James said. “19th,” Stevie answered.   
“Favorite period,” he asked. 

“Regency,” Stevie said, giggling as James groaned a little at her answer.   
“Interwar,” he answered. Stevie quirked her eyebrow at him. “What? It’s a hugely important time period with so many world events. How could it not be your favorite?”   
“Moving on,” Stevie prompted, “favorite historical figure.” 

James thought for a moment mulling over his answer. “I’m torn between Patton and Eisenhower. You know what Patton, ‘cause I like Ike, but not that much.”   
Stevie smiled, “Marie Cassatt.” 

James’ eyebrows furrowed together. “I had a friend once who really liked Cassatt.” He said it so unsure of himself, like he wasn’t sure where the memory was coming from.  
Stevie shrugged, “she is a rather famous impressionist.” 

“Favorite event,” James asked, “that took less than a year.”   
Stevie mulled that one over for a few seconds, thinking about all her options. “The opening of MOMA,” she answered fairly sure of herself.   
“I’m sensing a theme here,” James said, chuckling.   
“I happen to like themes. Means that everything is cohesive. I bet your favorite event is the Battle of Belleau Wood or something.” Stevie shot back  
“Actually, I have to go with Les Paul inventing the solid body electric guitar, but Belleau Wood is in my top 10,” James laughed, enjoying himself as Stevie appeared to seethe. 

“James, Stevie dinner!” Mrs. Barnes called from down stairs. The pair looked at each other.   
“We’ll be down in a minute Ma!” James move off his bed, and slowly moved toward his door.   
“How about we swap people, you write about Patton and I’ll write about this Cassatt lady,” he suggested, “that way we have some cohesion in our papers.”   
Stevie smirked, “alright, but I expect you to do better than the Wikipedia page.”

As September gave way to October, Stevie once again found herself in her guidance counselor’s office discussing her college plans.   The overzealous woman was trying, as she did every year, to push Stevie into applying to the usual CUNY schools, NYU, and a handful of small private institutions in upstate New York. She kept telling Stevie that with her grades and SAT scores applying to many of those schools would result in a full ride and the degree of her choice.  The woman barely listened to Stevie’s desire to attend art school, let alone apply to the likes of the Rhode Island School of Design or the School of Art Institute in Chicago, though she had perked up at the mention of Yale, which according to Stevie’s sources had the best undergraduate fine arts program in the country. 

Regardless, Stevie left the closet of an office feeling like she’d rather punch the woman in the face, than listen to a word coming out of her mouth.   Was it really that far-fetched for her to study art?  She’d already sold some of her work, granted it was to friends of the family and one small craft show over the summer, but still selling sketches was something.  

Entering Advanced Art, Stevie retook her stool in front of a large easel.  She attempted to refocus her mind on the painting she’d started of a pewter jug and table setting, but found herself unable to concentrate.  Instead, she removed the canvas from her easel replacing it with her 18 x24 sketchbook.  

Flipping to a free page, Stevie closed her eyes and took a deep breath, allowing her hand to start the picture before she knew exactly what she was drawing.  She stopped, her pencil frozen in the middle of a line when she felt her art teacher come to a stop behind her. 

“Uninspired by today’s subject?”

Stevie turned around to face her favorite teacher.  “Not today.  Just felt like a change in medium might be good.” 

Ms. Christie smiled at her, “and as the changed helped?”  Stevie nodded, moving to show her teacher what she was working on. 

“It’s not your usual subject matter, but I definitely like it.  How knows that might be one to put in a college portfolio,” Ms. Christie said, winking at her student. 

Stevie looked down at her sketch.  In her free sketching she’d begun what looked like a group portrait of a band.  It was then that she noticed she’d already drawn the Howling Commando’s logo in the bottom left of the picture.   Ms. Christie was right, it was one of her best portraits to date, but it didn’t feel right for her portfolio.  It didn’t flow with the landscapes, buildings, and life scenes already part of her folio, especially if she was sending it to schools for evaluation  

The bell rang, triggering groans of protest and aggravation from the many students in the room. Still many simply covered their works with damp clothes and deposited brushes in water containers with the plan on returning to their work during their lunch period or after school.  

“Stevie, if you could stay behind a few minutes,” Ms. Christie called the class headed for the door.  Stevie acknowledge her, and took her time cleaning up her small area. 

“Have you given any real thought as to where you want to go to college?” 

Stevie repressed a groan.  She had just had this conversation with her counselor; did she really need to have it with her teacher?

“Yeah, I was looking at RI School of Design, maybe the School of Visual Arts, CUNY Hunter.”  

Ms. Christie nodded along.  “I think those are great choices Stevie.  You’d like RI Design, it a beautiful campus and a great atmosphere for someone like you.  Though School of the Visual Arts might be good at well.  I will warn you, that all the good programs are going to be competitive, but I think I might be about to help you with a letter of recommendation and some direction on the drawings.”

Stevie beamed.  “You really think so?”

Ms. Christie smiled back. “I know so.” 

With new found enthusiasm, Stevie and Ms. Christie began to debate possible portfolio themes, and which of her many pieces to include. 

 

\-----------

Stevie couldn’t stop smiling as she walked in to English twenty minutes late, with a note from Ms. Geisen complete with a quick sketch of a sad puppy.  

She took her seat beside Natasha, who flashed her a look that said “we will talk”, as Ms. Geisen returned to her lecture on Gabriel Garcia Marquez.  They had started reading one of the noble laureates’ lesser known works, _Chronicle of a Death Foretold_ the class period before, allowing them to get into the prose before being exposed to the author.  

When Ms. Geisen released them for lunch, Natasha swore she had never seen Stevie more so fast.  She’d bet money that if Stevie had tried to move so fact just six months prior, she would have been reaching for her inhaler.  

They met Tony in the cafeteria at their usual spot.  Stevie had a tray full of food in front of her for once, much to the pleasure of both Tony and Natasha, and she ate with a gusto they hadn’t seen since the start of the year. 

Stevie paused with a spoon of passable mac and cheese hovering in midair.  “What?”

Natasha and Tony shared a look.  “Nothing,” they answered in unison.

They waited, eating their lunches in silence until Stevie had finished her meal. 

“So what was the smile about in English,” Natasha asked.

“Ms.  Christie thinks I have a shot at RI School of Design.” 

“That’s great Stevie,” Tony said, “Have you put any thought into what you’re going to put in your portfolio or the bicycle drawing?”

“I already have my portfolio together, but I haven’t had a chance to even look at the application yet Tony.  Besides, Ms. Christie said she’d help me figure out the drawing samples.” 

“This good fortune deserves celebrating,” Tony declared. 

“And what would this celebrating entail, exactly,” Natasha asked, eyeing Tony suspiciously.

“I don’t know, bowling come to mind. You can even bring all your friends.” 

Stevie raised an eyebrow, “Bowling?”

“Yes, bowling. A sport in which a people throw a weighted ball at a formation of pins with the goal of knowing all of them down.”  Tony rolled his eye. 

“I think it could be fun if we got the right group of people together,” Natasha offered. 

Stevie looked between the two of them, like they had suddenly grown three heads. 

“Come on Stevie. I know for a fact that you have nothing going on Friday night,” Natasha said, “what’s the harm of actually being a teenager for once.”

“Fine, but can we keep it small?” 

Natasha nodded.  “Just the usual suspects, and maybe James if he’s not busy,” she offered.  

“I’ll ask him in history,” Tony said, “give me something to do while the old bat talks.”

Stevie rolled her eyes, “just because you don’t think history is important does not mean Mrs. Hillman is old, senile, a bat, or the devil Tony.” 

As if on cue, the bell signaling the end of 5th period rang and cafeteria filled with the noise of teens bidding their friends good bye as they headed for their final class of the day. 

Tony and Stevie walked to history together as usual, getting there a tiny bit earlier than usual. Sam was already there notebook out and ready for class.  

“Hey Sam, bowling Friday night,” Tony called as they entered, snickering slightly as Sam jumped in his seat. 

“Friday night sounds good,” Sam answered. 

As Stevie took her seat, she was started by a deep voice in her ear, “am I invited to on this bowling excursion.” 

She turned to see James stooping over his own desk. “Depends, are we friends?”

“I assume we are on a friendly basis, yes.  You spend enough time in my house to be considered a sister, but friend will do.” James smirked.

“Then yes, you are invited on the bowling excursion, but you’ll have to get the details from tony,” Stevie replied as Mrs. Hillman brought the class to order.

Stevie found it difficult to concentrate Mrs. Hillman’s lecture about scientific advances of WWI, her hands were itching to draw as a fresh wave of inspiration hit. She flipped to a fresh page in her notebook and began to sketch small images.   James glanced over midway through the lecture, and smirked at her.

A piece of ripped paper found its way onto the corner of her desk.

_Is it just me, or do you always draw during lectures?-J_

She smiled, reaching forward to scribble a note in return.

_It’s not just you, inspiration hits when it hits.  Can’t help it.-S_

_Do you take commissions?-J_

_Yup, and I already have something I think you’d like.-S_

The pair continued to write back and forth to each, stopping whenever Hillman looked in their direction for longer than a second. 

By the end of the class Stevie had managed to sketch out what looked like a WWI era uniform, a gas mask, and a prototype tank. 

As everyone slowly filed out of class James fell into step with Stevie.

 “You said you had something I’d like,” James said.  Stevie smirked, grabbing his hand and pulling him in the direction of the art rooms.  

“If it’s something you learned in Auto Shop, doll, you don’t have to impress me with your growing knowledge of cars,” James joked. 

“There is more on this end of the school than Auto Shop,” Stevie said as they took a set of stairs up instead of down to the Auto Shop.  

As they entered the senior art room, it was already a hub of activity with other students returning to their projects with real gusto.  Many had their iPod in blocking out potentially distracting noises. 

Stevie let go of James hand as they neared her work space.  She pulled out her sketchpad to show him the sketch of the Howling Commandos she’d started earlier that day. 

“I though the Commando’s might like it, fan art for their facebook page or something,” She said handing the pad over to him. 

“You did this today,” James said in disbelief. 

“Yeah, I wasn’t feeling a still life today,” Stevie said. 

“I’m sure Jim and Dernier would love this.  They’ve been looking for fresh stuff for our website,” James said running his fingertips over the lines of the insignia.

“It’s yours if you want it,” Stevie said, “when it’s finished of course.”

“No, I can’t just accept this.  It’s too big of a gift. There must be some way I can pay you for this.” James looked down at the sketch one more time. 

Stevie shook her head.  “I want you to have it.  Think of it as your incentive to become a regular paying customer.” 

James smiled, “Consider me your first regular.” 

Stevie laughed, taking the sketch pad back from her friend. 

“Can I see any of your other stuff,” James asked settling on a stool next to Stevie.

“You walk past some of my work every day jerk,” she said, not looking at him as she started working on the detail of Dum Dum’s bowler.  

James’ eyebrow furrowed.  “I walk past your work everyday?”  The words seemed off on his tongue like he was unable to grasp the concept. 

“One of my early works is in your kitchen,” Stevie said, focused on her work.  

“Look, as much as I enjoy our conversations James, I have projects to finish, and I would like to focus on my work. You’re more than welcome to stay, but I’d suggest you get to work on that reading assignment Hillman gave us.  Or perhaps your calculus homework?”  

James’ expression moved quickly from one of confusion to disbelief. “You little punk.  I oughta thump you for that.  But since Ma raised me to never hit a girl….”

Stevie rolled her eyes, watching as he inevitably pulled out his calculus work before returning to the project at hand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so all of you know I am not an expert on fine arts schools, how competitive they are, or how they’re applications processes work. I went to school for the hard sciences in the South. I knew about RI School of Design because I had a friend from high school attend for graphic design and sculpture. I am doing some research to make sure I’m not completely making things up, but I can’t guarantee that it’ll be 100% accurate. 
> 
> As always, please leave reviews, kudos, whatever you wish.  
> Next chapter is Bowling Night, and another surprise for Stevie.  
> If all goes well I should have that chapter up by Friday at the latest.  
> Authors Note 7/5/2015: So I just noticed that a whole chunk of this chapter was missing. Just fixed it now. Sorry if anyone has been really confused about wtf is going on.   
> Night!


	4. Chapter 4

The rest of the week seemed to drag with the promise of Friday looming as the great motivator to survive the two pop quizzes, exam, and paper that were due that week.  Stevie also put more time into her art than usual application deadlines beginning to loom precariously near.  RI’s early admissions application was due the first of November and they’re application was truly no joke.  In addition to the infamous bicycle drawing Ms. Christie had told her about there was a second project with a variety of prompts.  She had figured that the 11 related drawings on one piece of paper of the course of a day would be her best bet.  After all she sketched all day anyway, the trick would be the 11 related images. 

Friday morning saw her sitting in Auto shop when the idea hit in.   Instantly she pulled out her 16x20 sketchbook and started working on the first of her drawings.   She looked sideways into the car ports, catching a glimpse of James on a roller sliding under a car, her pencil working all the while. 

Mr. Kreasler looked back at the class as he was explaining how to change a cars oil and why such change was necessary.  

“Stephanie,” he called, startling the girl who wasn’t used to responding to her formal name, “While I understand that there are more interesting things in the bays, please try to pay attention.   The sooner we get through this material the sooner you can be out there working too.” Mr. Kreasler

Stevie couldn’t help the blush that bloomed on her cheeks at being called out in class.  The rest of the class started at her. 

“Yeah Stevie, don’t you want to know how to do manly things, since your precious Margret isn’t around to do them for you” a jerk called from the front of the class. 

Stevie’s head shot up, her hands clenching forcing her pencil to snap in half. 

“Aw look, the stick doesn’t like us bringing up her little girl friend,” another sneered.  

Before anyone realized what was going on, Stevie was out of her seat stalking toward the two boys. 

“Is the stick mad?   Are we going to wrestle, because I have some moves I know you’d like,”  the teen asked.  

Mr. Kreasler looked between the pair for a minute, hoping to whatever god was going to listen that he was not about to jump into the middle of a fight. 

_Thwack_! Stevie had knocked the teen off his chair and into the path between desks.   The beginnings of a black eye were already blooming on his pasty face.  

“You little,” he started.

“Don’t even think about finishing that sentence,” a voice boomed from the door. The entire class turned to see James poised in the door jam.

“Look at that.  The stick still needs someone else to fight her battles,” the boy taunted.

“Shut the fuck up Hodges.  You just got punched by the stick,” another boy in the class said.

Mr. Kreasl-er attempted to get the class back under control with little success. “Stevie, I suggest you go home for the day.  I won’t report you because Hodges had it coming, but it might be good for you to take a breather.”

Stevie nodded moving back to her desk and packing her bag.   She looked around the class one more time before leaving.    As she walked out of the room, she felt a presence behind her.   Glancing over her shoulder she saw James behind her. 

“Were are you going,” she asked. 

“Someone needs to make sure your punk ass gets home in one piece.”  James already had his bag and his shirt in his hands.  

“Fine, whatever you want James,” Steve acquiesced.  She hadn’t planned on actually going home, but hiding out in the art room until Natasha or Sam came to find her. 

The halls were pretty empty considering it was the midpoint of first block.  There were a few people running in, and a handful of parents delivering forgotten papers to classes.   The pair walked in silence trying to avoid the places they knew campus security liked to sit and the principals.  

“Rodgers, Barnes, where do you think you’re going,” a voice behind them shouted.

The pair froze.  They had been within the sight of the doors and freedom.   They turned to face Principal Phillips. 

“Hi Mr. Phillips,” Stevie said.

“I’ll repeat the question Rodgers, where do you two think you’re going?”

“Sorry sir, it’s just the fumes in Auto Shop triggered Stevie’s asthma.  Mr. Kreasler thought it was best I escort her home, to make sure she gets there safely,” James answered. 

“Well, see that you do that Barnes. Can’t have students going to the hospital on my watch.” 

The pair smiled as Principal Phillips left them, continuing on his way down the hallway.  Then they booked it to the lot where James’ Impala was parked.  

“Did you drive?”

Stevie shook her head. “Nat normally drives me home after school.  I take the bus in the morning.” 

“Alright, get in.”  

Their drive home was quite, Stevie focusing back on her page.  She didn’t even look up when James pulled into her drive way. 

“Stevie,” James said as he opened his door. Her head popped up , arm instinctively covering her work, “ we’re home.”

Stevie closed her notebook and pulled herself from the car.  He walked her up to the front door of her home and waited as she pulled her key from her bag.

“Would you like to come in?”

“Thought you’d never ask, punk,” James answered following her in the house. 

James parked himself on the shabby couch in the living room leaving his bag on the floor.   Stevie shook her head, moving through the kitchen and the old fashioned phone to call her mother. 

When Stevie returned, James had moved only slightly to inspect her film collection. 

“How does a classic film marathon sound,” he asked not looking up from the row of DVD boxes. 

“Sounds perfect,” Stevie said, settling down in the wingback chair beside the couch, her sketchbook already out and open, her pencil hovering above the page she’d been working on since Auto Shop.  

James picked first and set it up.   The Maltese Falcon was not Stevie’s favorite of her and her mother’s classic film collection, but there was something about Bogie that made it alright.  

The pair stayed like that the rest of the day making it through The Maltese Falcon, Citizen Kane, Casablanca, and Strangers on a Train before Stevie’s mother returned home.   She smiled at the pair and left them alone closing the door to her small office to maintain their privacy.  

“Hey Stevie,” James said, trying to get the girl’s attention as Strangers on a Train ended.  She seemed utterly engrossed in her work, whatever it was.   He craned his neck to try and get a look at least part of the page.  He could make out what looked to be a fedora on one end of the page, and a car on the other but little that seemed to be a cohesive picture.

“Stevie,” he said a little more insistently.  He reached out and carefully prodded her arm.  Luckily she didn’t startle this time, just glared at him.  

“Yes James,” she asked.  

“Do you have a date for homecoming?” 

She couldn’t help but stare at him.  How did this man that had once been this debonair eight year old who had “dated” their entire second grade class by Christmas, not have a date to homecoming.

“I don’t.  I wasn’t planning on going really.  Natasha said its not worth the money you spend to go.”

“Have you ever been to homecoming, Stevie?”

“No, I’m the stick remember.  No one wanted to date a sickly board like me.” 

James gaped at her.  Those words are not come out of her mouth.  He didn’t quite understand why, but it hurt to hear her say such things about herself.  He slide off the couch onto the floor in front of her.

“Stephanie Grace Rogers,” he started, “would you do me the honor of going to homecoming with me.”  

Stevie took a moment to answer, looking down at her page for a moment as if contemplating the pros and cons of homecoming. 

“Sure, James Buchannan Barnes, I’ll got to homecoming with you.  As friends,” she answered.  

Bucky smiled, but felt a strange dichotomy of warm and cold in his heart, like she hadn’t fully acquiesced to his proposition.  

Outside the unmistakable sound of the mailman stopping pulled the pair from their personal revelries. 

Stevie was actually up and running the second the mail truck started moving. She returned barely a minute later with a stack of letters in hand, flipping through them as if looking for something.

“Yes,” she squealed dropping the other letters about the floor.   She ripped into the envelope and started to read, completely ignoring James. He reached down to pick up the discarded envelope.   It had one of those tiny Airmail stamps in the corner with covered by a postmark from London.  James turned the possibilities over in his head as he watched Stevie curl up in that arm chair and devote all of her attention to the pieces of paper in her hands.  The only other time he’d seen her so focused was when she worked on her art.

After a few minutes ticked by Stevie pulled herself from the letter a smile beaming across her face.

“Dare I ask what’s got you riled up doll,” he asked. 

Stevie stared at him a minute, the smile faltering, as she turned his words over.

“It’s a letter from Peggy,” she said carefully refolding the pages. 

“And who is this illustrious Peggy?”

“She’s a friend.  She went to Stark High last year as part of an exchange program and we kinda clicked.”  Tears welled in the corners of Stevie’s eyes.  “I haven’t heard from her since May and this letter its amazing.  She wants me to come visit and its excited that I’m healthy and….”

She stopped.  “Sorry.  I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s alright. If she’s important to you and as good a friend as I think she is, I’d like to hear about this Peggy,” James answered quickly.

He glanced at the clock.  The hands showed it was just past five and they were due at the bowling alley at six. 

“Right now, I think we need to get ready for this bowling blow-out Tony has planned.” 

Stevie nodded.  “You’ll pick me up in an hour right?”  

James smiled, “be there of be square.”

…

Stevie stood in front of the small mirror in her room.  She felt like something was missing, the blouse and jeans looked good, and her now pin straight locks just brushed her collar bones.   Even her self-applied makeup looked okay.  Stevie twirled once just to make sure she liked everything. Still something was missing, an elusive little bit that would take her outfit from cute to amazing.  The glint of something off the day’s last rays of sun caught her eye.   Hanging off one of her bedposts was an old silver necklace with a tiny charm that looked like the Brooklyn Bridge in the right light.  Next to the charm was a tiny blue gem Stevie had always been convinced was paste.   The necklace had been her last present from Bucky before he’d left, something so that She’d always have a piece of their friendship with her regardless of what happened.   She hadn’t worn the necklace since middle school and wasn’t even sure if it would even fit.  She unclasped the chain and held it against her neck.  The chain was definitely too short.  Reaching for her jewelry box, Stevie found another chain a silver one her grandmother had given her.  Carefully she removed the two charms for the old necklace and placed them on the chain.    The charms now fell to her collar bones. It was perfect.

A horn honked outside.  James had offered to drive her instead of Tony or Natasha coming out of their way for both of them.   Grabbing her purse, Stevie all but ran out the door. 

“Don’t stay out too late,” her mother warned as she walked past. 

“Sure mom, bye!”

James smiled from the car as Stevie came down the short walk and jumped in.  

“Ready to bowl,” he asked as they back out of the driveway.

“Born ready,” she answered.  

They sat in silence for a few minute while their hands battled for control of the radio. 

“I don’t see why we have to listen to rock James. Just because you and Tony bonded over it doesn’t mean you get to subject me to in without him present,” Stevie argued finding the swing/jazz station again.

“Stevie, we’re 17 not 70,” James said glancing at her as he hit the button changing the station back.

“Fine,” Stevie huffed sitting back in her seat, arms crossed over her chest.

“Hey,” he said after a moment of silence, “I like your necklace.”

Stevie fought the blush from her face, thinking carefully about her response.

“Thanks, an old friend gave it to me for my birthday a while ago.”

“I think I gave something similar to a girl once,” James continued, “I save all my allowance for months to buy it.”

“Must have been one lucky girl,” Stevie answered, sliding the charm up and down the chain. 

“Yeah, she must have been special.  The lady who sold it to me was really surprised I asked for a real sapphire.  Kept asking if that’s what I really wanted instead of a cheaper alternative.” 

Stevie sat shocked for a moment, trying to process the information and hold back from telling James everything.

“Stevie,” James asked concerned.  She had just frozen like she was hearing some important news about her mother or something.  “Are you alright there?”

“Yeah, James, just fine.”

\--

When they arrived Natasha, Sam, and Tony were just getting their shoes.

“About time you two showed up,” Tony said handing over two extra pairs of shoes, “sizes 6 and 12 right.”

“Didn’t know being a genius meant being able to figure out other peoples measurements,” James joked untying his beat up vans and exchanging them. 

“Personal shopping is but one of my many talents,” Tony said as he stood to get used to the smooth bottom shoes.

Natasha choked back a laugh.  “You, the guy who wears nothing but t-shirts for classic rock bands, has taste? As I live and breathe”

Stevie snorted.  

“You know Nat just for that I’m not buying you a beer,” tony said. 

“Umm….None of us are 21 Tony,” Sam said from a rack of balls.   He turned to face the group with an electric blue ball in hand.  

“Sometimes it pays to have a rich and famous father,” Tony said eying a red and black streaked ball behind

As he turned his back, Natasha and James shared a glance.   Stevie ignored them, happy to see her two best friends become friends themselves.  

Dropping the conversation, the group picked a lane at the far end of the alley, where it was unlikely that anyone would come by to bother them. Tony, naturally took over control of the score keeping computer, beating Natasha by only fractions of a second.  He also took the liberty of assigning everyone their nicknames instead of letting them pick their own. This was actually good in the case of Stevie who would have stuck with her own name given the opportunity to choose.

James snickered as he returned with his grey and red bowling ball.  The names were odd, if not a little funny.

**Miss America**

**Winter Soldier**

**Black Widow**

**Falcon**

**Iron Man**

“Is there a reason we all have superheroesque names Tony,” he asked, causing the others to take notice. 

“Well, most superhero teams seem to be made up of a rag tag bunch of heros, and that’s kinda what we are right?”

 Natasha and Sam couldn’t help but agree.  Nothing seemed to better explain their friend group than superheros.   

“Miss America? Really Tony,” Stevie asked as she returned with a red, white, and blue ball. 

“Have you seen yourself, you look like the very definition of America.  I bet if we looked it up, your picture would be there right next to the apple pie and baseball,” Tony answered. Stevie blushed

“You forgot the bourbon Tony,” James pointed out, trying to take the focus off Stevie. 

“Yeah Tony, you shouldn’t forget the alcohol,” Sam teased.  

“Guys, can we bowl already? I kinda want to get some of those curly fries sooner rather than later,” Natasha asked as she shifted her own black ball between her hands.  

“Ooooo, wait till I tell Madam Giry that you’re cheating on your diet,” Stevie teased. 

“You will do no such thing Stephanie, or I will be forced to tell your mother about a small incident involving from cosmic brownies,” Natasha warned. Stevie flushed again. 

“Come on guys, Bowling now, pot later,” Tony insisted pushing Stevie towards the lane to take the first frame.

“Fine, but if you get curly fries, I want fried mac and cheese,” Stevie said sticking her tongue out at Nat.

Stevie bowled her frame, two gutter balls before returning to her uncomfortable plastic chair and her sketchbook. 

Natasha leaned over, trying to get a good look at what she was working on. 

“Nat,” Stevie whined, “you know I don’t like people seeing my work when its not finished.”  

“Just curious.  Is that one of your application pieces?”  

Stevie nodded.   She’d managed to complete 10 of the 11 drawings.  She only needed one more, and had only the tiniest of spaces on the page to fill. Carefully closing the sketchbook, Stevie set is aside to watch as Sam and Tony took their turns.   They were both kind of bad with Sam managing to hit three pins and Tony, remarkably, only the two back corners.  

The group bowls they’re first game before heading to the concession area for food.  Natasha does get her curly fries, smothered in chili and nacho cheese and Stevie gets her little fried bites of “heaven”.   Tony bought the entire group beer, though he didn’t realize that rest of the group saw him slip the twenty-something behind the counter a fifty to get them.  It was nice, they made quite conversation about classes, and college.

“So James, what are your plans,” Tony asks after failing to steal one of Natasha’s fries.

“Not really sure,” James shrugged, “I was thinking about Engineering, building and designing things is already a hobby and people are always telling me do what you love. Haven’t even started looking though.   Tony’s eyes lit up at the mention of engineering.

“That’s what I want to do too,” he said, “and I really want to go to MIT.”  

“With a name like Stark that should be easy,” Sam said.  _Ow!_ Natasha slapped Sam upside the head.  

“That sounds great Tony.  I’m sure you’ll get in. You’re a genius after all,” she says glaring at Sam.  

The conversation continued well into game two with everyone taking their quick breaks for their turn to bowl.   It wasn’t until the fourth game that Nat or James noticed that Stevie had stopped talking in favor of her notebook again. 

She sat cross-legged over two chairs, the sketchbook precariously positioned in her lap when she wasn’t bowling, and she had stopped trying to win after game three when it became apparent that the pins were taunting her and Sam was trying to beat Tony’s high score of 191. 

“Natasha,” Stevie said, causing both her and James to turn all attention to her as Tony bowled the last frame of the game, “I forgot to tell you.  A letter from Peggy came in the mail.” She pulled the now creased paper from her bag quickly handing it to her red-headed friend.

Natasha’s eyes lit up as she opened the letter and read quickly.   Tony turned around, victory dancing as the board showed he’d won his third straight game to find Nat and Stevie focused on their papers, and James and Sam sipping the remainder of the now warm beer.

“Aw come on guys. Can’t a guy get some appreciation for whopping your butts?”

Nat bit back a snigger while James and Sam full on laughed as Tony walked away muttering about ungrateful people and crappy beer.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holly crap. I'm so sorry this chapter is a week later than originally promised. They finally threw us in the deep end of the pool at work and poof there went all my free time and energy. I hope ya'll like this and it is extra long to try and compensate for the lateness. I'll try to have the next chapter up soonish maybe end of this week beginning of the next, but no promises.   
> As always let me know what you think, and all that jazz!

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! I hope you like this, its my first time writing both Captain America and AU fan fiction so please leave comments, kudos etc to let me know how its going.   
> I also apologize in advance for the sporadic nature of my posting I work full time so I don't have a lot of time to write except the weekends.   
> Anyway-see you next time   
> FB


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